


Cripple Creek

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1276708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the leader of a notorious group of outlaws has its perks, but Kid is ready to kick off his spurs and have a good time without responsibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cripple Creek

The hanging lamps of the Cripple Creek saloon turned the smoky fog into a golden stream of slithering movement; not that the full house of clientele noticed. The half-dozen poker tables were filled to capacity as was the brass boot-rail encircling the mahogany bar. 

Filling one of the spaces along the rail was Kid Curry, his sharp, blue eyes, watching all. At each table, a different member of the Devil’s Hole Gang sat, one-and-all richly celebrating, their ill-gotten gains; all except, Haig, Jenkins, and Wheat Carlson who were down the street enjoying a huge steak dinner. 

Sipping his beer, the same one he had been sipping for nearly an hour, Curry watched his partner, Hannibal Heyes, as he raked in another pot. His eyes strayed from Heyes, to the buxom blonde who sashayed about the room, as if she herself were the Queen of Sheba. He had come to the conclusion she must be the Madam of the establishment. Why else would she have such freedom to decline the numerous invitations to go upstairs, he had been witnessing. Just now, she was passing him yet again, Kid nodded to her, her air of strength bemusing him as much as her tantalizing perfume. 

The screech of the batwing doors unconsciously drew his attention, as they always did. He remained at ease, though, for entering the saloon was none other than their three absent companions. Rugged in their dress, confidence riding on their steps, their speech filled with bravado. The crowd parted for them as they walked deeper into the room. Seeing men avert their eyes as the trio passed, a smile of satisfaction emerged from Curry. He found he was enjoying the way the mild-mannered men held their breath when they came in too close of contact with his pals. He nodded; thinking being a leader of the Devil’s Hole Gang wasn’t half-bad. Finishing his warm, beer, Kid set it upon the bar, hollering, “Wheat.”

The tall, mustached man altered his course away from the cluster of fair nymphs of the prairie, draped in just the right amount of clothing to make them exceedingly improper. “What ‘d you need, Kid?” Wheat asked, even as he waved down the bartender. “Bottle of whiskey—the good stuff.”

Kid shook his head, “Nope, he’ll take a beer.”

The bartender trudged back to the tap. He returned, sloshing a mug down before Wheat with a tight, bleak smile for the curly haired young-man who had already been taking up space at his bar for, far too long, nursing one slow beer after another. “Dime,” he demanded; his hand remaining on the mug until Wheat slid across the thin, silver coin.

Snorting a smile, Kid thought, ‘Well, maybe not everyone see’s us as men not to be crossed.’

Pulling deeply from the mug, Wheat emerged with his mustache covered in foam. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he turned hitching his elbows against the bar top, just as Kid had been doing for the past few hours. “What’s up?”

“I’m goin’ upstairs.”

“Thought to do that myself.”

“I’m goin’ first,” Kid replied, tilting his head in the general direction of where their partners in crime were scattered across the bustling saloon. 

Wheat leaned toward him, his eyes gentle even as sarcasm dripped from him, “Hell, there’s more than one sporting girl.”

“You’re staying here to watch ‘em.” Kid turned, putting him nose to nose with his pal, “All of ‘em been drinking pretty heavily. You’re second-in-command, after Heyes and me, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Well, it’s your turn to guard over ‘em. I’ve done my duty tonight. I’m goin’ upstairs.” 

“But. . .” was all that rolled from Wheat’s mouth on seeing his pal’s hand drop to the butt of his tied-down gun. It was merely, a gentle reminder --one that Wheat felt sure he never wished to experience personally-- but still a reminder that the man standing next to him was more than a man. He was Kid Curry, not only the fastest but also the most accurate gun in the West. “Hellfire, you feel that sure about it, why didn’t you say so?”

“I did.”

Wheat nodded, looking to the tables, noting where their pals sat and saw Haig heading upstairs. For a split second, a frown dipped his mustache then he was puffing up, his voice full of bluster, “I got this. You go kick off your spurs.”

Pushing off the rail, a smile of relief broke from Kid but, even as it did, his brow furrowed, “Don’t drink too much.”

“I know. A guards gotta keep his wits,” Wheat replied, setting his mug on the bar, and sticking his thumbs self-importantly into vest pockets. 

“Also, keep an eye on Heyes; he’s been winning a bit too regularly.”

Wheat looked over Kid’s shoulder, easily able to see the stack of cash before his leader, “Got it. Now get!”

Kid clapped him on the shoulder and turning spotted the target of his hunt, alongside the Faro table. Running a hand back through his curls, he marched right over. She was amongst the players, encouraging them. Seeing this, Kid stopped close but not so close as to interrupt the action. 

Her slender, well-formed arms were darting in amongst the gamblers, caressing them, teasing them, and distracting their count of the cards emerging from the shoe. She was pitiless; removing her from the game would greatly improve the odds of the men surrounding the table. When she wove near him, Kid leaned out, just enough, to whisper in her ear, “Making bucking the tiger, even more of a challenge, are you?”

She whipped about; the golden curls artfully piled on her head danced a wild fandango. He could see fire in her eyes. She was ready to rebuke him for his boldness and that was when he released his smile.   
One finely traced eyebrow arched haughtily, her cat-like eyes tracing his body from his wide shoulders down his narrow hips to his muscled thighs and the tied-down Colt. By the time she finished her survey, her ire drained away into laughter as delicate as the clink of fine crystal, “Well, hello there.” 

“Interested in leavin’ all this here noise for a quiet spot upstairs?” Kid questioned, his smile growing more robust.

Her rouged lips twitched to the side, “What’s your name, good-looking?”

Kid took a step backwards indicating for her to follow. Several feet back from the crowd, he daringly pulled her to him. Her stiff taffeta dress rasped against his rough clothing as she wiggled against him fetchingly. Her act of pushing him away, truly no more than an act, and feeling her moving so against him was driving him crazy. Leaning down to her ear, he breathed, “Name’s Jed. What about it?”

“Well, Jed,” her eyes danced over his lightly sun-bronzed face settling on his blue, blue eyes. “You might be able to persuade me.” 

He nuzzled down her neck. “What’s your name?”

She gasped, “Celia,” leaning into him as his full lips followed a trail along her collarbones, right down into the curve of her cleavage. Laughing again, louder this time, she spun from his arms, catching hold of his hand, to lead him up the grand staircase. 

In her room, she lit a candelabra setting on a large round table. Returning quickly to him, she peeled him from his vest tossing it on the chair by the table. Immediately working the buttons of his blue shirt, like the pro she was, and, un-tucking it, her nails danced along his ribs to scrap down his back. Kid leaned in kissing, the red lips which had been haunting him all night. When they were both breathing heatedly, she stepped away. “Some details to work out first.”

“How much?”

She held up one hand, waggling all five fingers.

‘Five?’ A part of his mind wheezed at the high price but then he laughed aloud. Who was he to quibble on cost considering how he came by his money? Digging into his pockets, he felt a smattering of change. His blue eyes narrowed, hardened, and going to his vest, he felt its inside pocket. Empty. He frowned, recalling he hadn’t taken any of his share from Heyes. Spying a pad and pencil on the table, he ripped off a piece. Scrawling on it, he folded it up. 

“Celia,” he said, with a smile that made her breath catch, “Did you notice my partner--black hat, silver hatband—one winning at the poker table?”

Her chin dipped down as she looked at him appraisingly, “Yes, I did; right handsome fella, if I recall.”

“If’n you say so. But, you did see the sizeable pile in front of him.”

She nodded, the curls dancing once more.   
Kid, handed her the folded paper. 

“If this be a request to invite him up, too,” a smile filled with mischief fluttered to life, “Sugar, that costs extra.”

Kid shook his head hard, “No! That ain’t it at all.” 

She shrugged her shoulders, a playful frown falling into place. “Oh well.” Unfolding the paper, she read it, began laughing heartily, and tearing the paper up even more heartily. Without hesitation, she tossed it directly into Kid Curry’s face. “I don’t take I.O.U’s sweetheart.” 

Racing from the room, down the stairs, his shirttails flapping behind him, Kid slid to a stop beside Hannibal Heyes, who was raking in yet another pot. “Excuse me gents, I need to borrow him.” Kid reached down, swiping up the greenbacks lying before his partner. 

“What the hell?!” Heyes yelped, jumping after his cousin. 

“I need two things,” Kid barked. 

“I’m on a roll here.” 

“You always are,” Kid held up the handful of cash, pulling ten bucks out. “I need this,” he shoved the rest of it back at Heyes. “and, I need you to stop playing.”

“What?”

“You’ve damaged these men’s bankrolls enough tonight,” Kid answered, glancing up to the balcony, where he could see a barely clothed Celia leaning in her doorway. “I don’t plan on returning tonight.” 

Heyes looked up to see the steamy blonde, who was now leaning on the banister; his mouth fell into a perfect O. 

Kid nodded, “So you gotta quit playing, so I don’t have to worry about you. Fact, why don’t you go takes Wheat’s place on guard.”

Heyes laid a hand on his partner’s shoulder, “Now, Kid. . .”

“Don’t have time.” Kid shook him off. “Promise me.”

“Promise.” Heyes grunted, rolling his eyes. 

“Good,” Kid grinned hugely. He was on the stairs, taking them three-at-a-time, before his cousin could utter another word. Reaching Celia, he swept her up; her musical laughter sprinkling down on all those below being punctuated by the slam of her door as Kid kicked it closed behind them.


End file.
